


Compliments to the Chef

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sherlock is tired of waiting, he takes a nice obvious approach, like TOOTH ROTTING fluff, this story is disgustingly cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock seduces John in an extremely cute and cheesy way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compliments to the Chef

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yorkiepug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yorkiepug/gifts).



> For the funny and wonderful and beautiful Sandy because you deserve all the fluffy love!

The smell hit John before he was even fully inside the door of 221B. It was…interesting. A combination of spiced chicken and asparagus and something else undefinable. He could hear movements in the kitchen. The sounds and smells of dinner being prepared. On top of that, John could hear Sherlock softly humming a song. Of all things! John immediately felt himself slipping into a small panic attack.

Who was here? Here, in this flat…cooking? Did Sherlock have someone over? Did he have a girlfriend or boyfriend spoiling him? Making a meal to feed him up before providing a far more carnal dessert?

John rolled his eyes at his own hysterical thought process. Sherlock didn’t do relationships. He’d made that clear years ago, and nothing had happened since then to change the status quo. Even during those times that John wondered…I mean, if Sherlock really wanted all that, wanted HIM…he would make it known, right? He hadn’t, and John already had a divorce on his plate. He didn’t really want to take risks the way he used to.

No. He and Sherlock were flatmates and friends. BEST friends. Best friends that sometimes looked at each other a bit too long, that sometimes had the weight of all they didn’t say hanging over them, that sometimes seemed moments from falling upon the nearest surface and fucking frantically…John stopped himself once again from continuing in that vein. He needed to get better at happily accepting his and Sherlock’s relationship as it was. John really was a terrible friend.

Either way, now, this…it was unexpected. Sherlock never cooked. EVER. John didn’t even think he knew HOW. I mean, it wouldn’t surprise him if Sherlock could, he was a chemist after all. But the notion of Sherlock going out of his way to do something that was considered by many to be actual WORK…well, that was a different story.

Ridiculously, the very concept of Sherlock cooking aroused him. The idea that Sherlock had an ability that John was not yet familiar with was exciting. And there was an inherent sexiness to cooking that keyed John up before he even set foot in the kitchen. He once again made it a point to calm his libido before he entered the room.

Good thing, too, because the sight that greeted him was nearly enough to make him drop to his knees on the spot. Sherlock’s back was to him. His shirt was damp with sweat from the heat of the kitchen. The sleeves were rolled up. His trousers seemed even tighter than normal, cupping the round globes of his arse like a glove. Sherlock’s curls were in disarray. The humidity of the room was making them frizz out every which way.   
His left hand held a wooden spoon with which he was stirring a large pot. Simultaneously his right hand held a pan filled with a mixture of onions and peppers, tossing them into the air as they sizzled. He was humming a song (“All I Want For Christmas is You” half of John’s brain supplied, while the other half protested that it was May and why was Sherlock singing a Christmas song? A cheesy, bouncy pop Christmas song at that?).

On top of everything else that was currently intent on turning John into a horny pool of goo, Sherlock wore an APRON. Granted, all John could see were the strings tied around Sherlock’s waist and looped round his neck, but yeah. Definitely an apron. Before John could so much as croak out a syllable, Sherlock set down the pan and utensils and SANG: “All I want for dinner is youuuuu.”

John could NOT have heard him correctly. Well Watson, you’ve now taken to bonafide hallucinations, he told himself. Because there is absolutely NO WAY that Sherlock just—

Sherlock turned around, and all thoughts vanished from John’s mind. The apron read “Kiss the Cook” which was fairly typical. But underneath, someone had scrawled with a black marker in all caps “THIS MEANS YOU, JOHN.”

This couldn’t be happening, John thought. Things like this didn’t happen to real people, especially not him. But Sherlock was bright red. Flushed and nervous but still managing to look quite pleased with himself. He bit his bottom lip and looked across the room at John from underneath his eyelashes.

“Dinner?” Sherlock said, sounding as though he were forcing confidence he didn’t quite feel. John crossed the room in a daze, not feeling as though he were walking so much as being pulled to Sherlock like a magnet.

John gripped the edges of Sherlock’s apron, whispered “Starving”, and yanked Sherlock’s mouth to his. The apron DID request it, after all. They licked and lapped at each other, tangled tongues and lips, sucked at each other’s mouths. There was no teasing it out, no gentling themselves into physical contact. It was immediate and desperate and fucking filthy. John wanted to taste Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock to taste him. They needed to feel each other. NOW.

John groaned when Sherlock momentarily pulled away to gasp in a breath. “How long?” he growled. Sherlock held John’s face in his hands and locked eyes with him.

“Since the start,” he kissed John. “Since always,” he kissed John again. “But now more than ever,” Sherlock’s kisses were deep, drugging and oh, so needy. “John, I…I just couldn’t wait any longer.” Sherlock looked almost ashamed, as though he felt he should’ve continued to resist what he felt.

John gave a low, desperate cry and sunk to the floor, pulling Sherlock down with him. “Don’t say that. NEVER say that,” John begged between kisses. “I’ve wanted you…for so long. God, Sherlock, I can’t even remember a time where my desire for you wasn’t a part of my every day life.”

Sherlock began to rock on top of John, moaning and rubbing their clothed erections together. John grabbed two handfuls of that perfect arse and pulled Sherlock more fully and firmly against him, gasping at the contact.

“Sherlock, can I? Let me, please, I want to, I need you…” John babbled as he pawed at Sherlock’s flies, finally managing to undo the button and zip.

“Yes, John, yes,” Sherlock hissed as the pressure against his groin was released a bit, only to have John’s hand immediately wrap around him and begin pulling. “John, please, you too,” Sherlock panted and undid John’s jeans, yanking them down just enough to free John’s cock from their confines.

“Together,” Sherlock said and wrapped his hand around both of them, his fingers overlapping John’s. They began stroking together, their hips moving in needy little jerks and their mouths producing bitten off moans between kisses.

John went over the edge first, his entire body first seizing and then releasing the tension with helpless thrusts, crying out over and over, his ejaculate slicking things up. Sherlock grunted and yanked himself hard and fast, his pelvis moving in little bursts, his hands tightening on John’s jumper as he found his release, his moans loud and joyful in John’s ear.

All at once he collapsed onto John’s chest, suddenly exhausted. John hummed and stroked Sherlock’s back and hair. “You should’ve cooked sooner,” he slurred, far more content than his normal state.

Sherlock chuckled. “I should probably actually get back to it before it all burns.”

“Mmm,” John smiled. “Well, HOWEVER it turns out, I’d like to pay my compliments to the chef. Best dinner of my life.” He winked and Sherlock actually giggled a bit.

“There’s dessert later,” Sherlock said, standing up, and John could feel his cock make the valiant effort to harden again.

“Cheesy,” John said.

“Sweet,” Sherlock retorted.


End file.
